


The Warehousing

by The_Emotional_Robot



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-03
Updated: 2014-04-03
Packaged: 2018-01-18 02:14:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1411192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Emotional_Robot/pseuds/The_Emotional_Robot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Everyone has their weak spot. The one thing that, despite your best efforts, will always bring you to your knees, regardless of how strong you are otherwise. For some people, it's love. Others, money or alcohol.”</p><p>Sarah Dessen</p><p>What made Mycroft Holmes?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Warehousing

Target: Edward Mycroft Scott Holmes  
E.T.A: 21:32:15 21st November 1995  
Location: Granthum and Sons’ Steel Works LTD Warehouse; Cambridge Heath; London

The black unmarked car pulled up into the darkened warehouse that had thankfully been emptied of its employees and machinery which usually made this building buzz with the sound of activity. Tonight, however, it lay quiet and empty except for the slight rev of the Bentley’s engine and the tapping of the long, government-issue, black umbrella that rolled in the hands of the lone elderly gentlemen calmly checking his pocket watch. He raised his silver haired head to observe the target leaving the black car down his long aristocratic nose with his clear grey eyes. In fact by the hair, the eyes, the pallor of his skin and the grey tailored suit; the gentleman gave the impression of a will o’ wisp hardly there only present on this earthly plain through will and habit. He was here once again, as he had been many times previously, to interview a prospective candidate for his employer. Of course the poor chap didn’t know it, but then again, they never did.

The poor chap in question exited the vehicle with poise and grace which was uncommon amongst the previous fellows. His rusty hair - not quite brown, not quite ginger- fell just enough to cover his bright blue eyes highlighting his long, crooked nose. He stood at an impressive height that dwarfed the other and with his lean frame that had been bulked by years of rugger on the fields of Eton; he cut an imposing figure in the gloom. His features and overall air of authority and knowledge aged the man far beyond his twenty-nine years as according to the file the elder gentlemen had been given. He raised his head and pulled back his shoulders, walking steadily towards the gentleman -whom we’ll call the “Interviewer” - in the room who with a practised ease took his role and the script that had been passed on throughout the generations.

The old gent uncrossed his ankles and pointed his umbrella to the sole chair in the room and stated clearly and in a cultured voice:

“Have a seat, Edward.”

The young man walked forward and said in a steady voice - though an old hand like the Interviewer could hear the slight tremor - “You know, sir, I do own a telephone. We could even have spoken over the ‘phone when you told me to enter the car, if you were so inclined.”

“When one is trying to avoid the attention of an individual like Douglas Wallace-Cornwell, one learns to be discrete. Hence this place. Sit down Mr Holmes.” The last four words were spoken with a certain harshness that had been unheard in the rest of the speech. However the young man kept his head high, which impressed the Interviewer more than he allowed himself to express, and said with an edge of curiosity -tsk Mr Holmes, that killed the cat- :

“I don’t wish to sit down.”  
“You don’t seem very afraid.”

“You don’t seem very frightening, sir.”

“Ah yes the bravery of youth. Bravery is by far the kindest word for stupidity - don’t you think?” The Interviewer threw the latter part of this statement across with a sneer and then, allowing a few seconds for Edward Holmes’ jaw to tense in irritation, he questioned “What is your connection to Mr Wallace-Cornwell?”

Holmes’ face deepened into a frown of confusion and then he replied: “I don’t have one. I scarcely know him. I met the gentleman for the first time yesterday.”

“Hmm and since yesterday you’ve been offered employment by him and dined together. Are we to expect a happy announcement by the end of the week?” The Interviewer grimaced with amusement at the old joke that he had been playing for the past fifty years in one way or another to various individuals. The Interviewer awaited the response that had also been replied in one way or another over the same number of decades and Holmes - as he had come to be thought of- did not disappoint.

“May I ask what is your status to know such information?”

“I am an interested party.”

Interesting thought the Interviewer. Usually they come up with some idiotic comment such as “What do you mean?”. Not this one though, he just arched his eyebrows and moved his right hand as if to indicate me to move on. Hmm very in control of himself.

“Do you plan to continue your association with Mr Wallace-Cornwell?”

“I fear, sir, that my relationship with the gentleman in question could be construed as none of your business.”

“It could be”

“I don’t believe it could.”

Following a tense pause in which the two men weighed up the strengths and weaknesses of the other in a manner which - if they belonged to a lower social class- could be termed as “sizing each other up”; the Interviewer once again spoke his well-rehearsed lines,

“If you decide to take the position in the Ministry of Transport, I’d be happy to pay a meaningful sum of money on a regular basis to ease your way.”

“What would move you to be quite so charitable sir?”

“Because since you have come to London from university - Cambridge wasn’t it? A first? Good man! I was an Oxford man myself but then I do suppose no one is perfect not even you Mr Holmes- But where was I? Ah yes, because since you have come to London, you haven’t been a wealthy man have you Mr Holmes? London prices aren’t what they were, are they? Too proud to go to your parents though are you Mr Holmes? Pride before the fall, pride before the fall.”

“I have found in life that one gets nothing without giving something in return. Therefore I am behoved to ask what it is you would like in return for this act of generosity.”

The Interviewer smiled. Well at least internally, it wouldn’t do to do show his mirth on the outside while he was still coming to a conclusion on Holmes. Instead he waived the umbrella and replied.

“Information. Nothing indiscreet. Nothing you’d feel uncomfortable with. Just tell me what Wallace-Cornwell is up to. Specifically in the more irregular policies that he seems to have taken an interest in all of a sudden.”

“And why would you desire to know that?”

“I worry. Constantly.” 

The Interviewer came back with rapid fire and a look of condescending concern. There was a tense silence as each waited for the next move. Finally after what would have felt like a lifetime for any observers but both gentlemen knew that truly it was only a two minute pause, the Interviewer followed up the statement.

“I would prefer for various reasons that my concern go unmentioned. We have what you might call a difficult relationship.”

The Interviewer paused as Holmes did something that was a first in his long career. Holmes was analysing him. He calmly looked him up from the longest strand on the Interviewer’s head to the very point of his well-polished brogues, and then with a slight tilt of the head to the left, smiled and resolutely stated without a breath of doubt:

“No”

The Interviewer knew that this man had set his mind and would not be moved one inch but still he went along with the long practised script of the façade.

“But I have not mentioned a figure yet.”

Holmes’ shark-like grin appeared once again as he replied,

“Oh, believe me, sir, it will not be necessary.”

“You’re very loyal, very quickly.”

“No, just sensible, sir.”

Now this threw the Interviewer, what had Holmes observed from me? He continued to watch Holmes like a scientist studying a beetle in a microscope, trying to catalogue and decipher what thoughts were whirring around this boy’s mind. It was this need to discover Holmes’ mettle - certainly not the irritation at the boy’s overconfident smirk- that caused the Interviewer to show his final card.

Taking a small, crumpled, inconspicuous black notebook from his top pocket; he serenely said “18”.

Holmes’ smirk vanished, instead being replaced with a look of confusion masking the fury that could not lie dormant. “Excuse me?”

The Interviewer replied nonchalantly with a shake of his head, “Just 18 years old. Your younger brother that is. 18 years old and already addicted to Cocaine. Hmm, he does know that’s illegal doesn’t he?” He shook his silver head with mock horror, tutting as he did so. “It would be a shame if his education, his future career, and even his relationships were to be permanently impaired by a criminal conviction.”

The Interviewer couldn’t help but think this part was a bit below the belt, it always required an issue that was closest to a person’s heart or a source of embarrassment to them. Some it was alcoholism, affairs, drugs or more questionable exploits. In previous eras it had been religion or sexuality or even nationality. For Mr Edward Mycroft Scott Holmes, however, it was his brother’s addiction; not only for the embarrassment of not being able to protect his younger brother but also the simple fact that this young man was, evidentially, - in the old cliché - a loved one. 

Holmes’ rage was shown all over his pale face as he desperately battled to check his strong emotions. Finally controlling himself long enough to vocalise he said:

“Is this”, waving his long, elegant hand to indicate the warehouse, Bentley and Interviewer, “All quite finished?”

With a cloying smile and a tilt of his silver haired head, he replied “You tell me, Mr Holmes”.

Holmes nodded once and turned to leave, head still high. When he reached the door of the Bentley, however, his fury and pride, which had been warring with his public school stiff upper lip, would not remain unvented. He turned towards the Interviewer and marched rapidly and with purpose towards him. Halting in arm’s reach, he looked intently at the surprised elderly man, and then rapidly fired:

“82 years old. Oxford educated - but you told me that- of a working-class family. Well hidden but not perfectly. The slight inflection on the aitches where you are overcompensating for your habit of dropping them. Has a younger sibling shown by your compassion to my situation. Single, two Persian cats, keen reader. A leading civil service mandarin in a top position and yet you expect me to believe that this is just a chat” spoken with such contempt that the Interviewer nearly flinched, “about a minor position in government, I find that very difficult to believe. What I would like to know is what type of job in Whitehall you could possibly have, which results in the ability to have a warehouse and Bentley at your disposal, and yet have to rent a small flat in the East End to be able to afford to live in London.”

Having spoken thus, with a nod he once again turned to the vehicle and swiftly left. The Interviewer shook his head and smiled, muttering under his breath “A minor one Mr Holmes, a minor one”. The old man thought over the whole conversation. Initially he had only had the role of deciding whether the boy was trustworthy enough for a governmental position. Now he was questioning whether he had the found the one he had been searching for, for fifty years now. The man that was intelligent, brave and loyal enough to be trained in and then take over the oldest role in England: the power behind the throne. The Interviewer thought with a smile that he’d finally found him and at last he could retire. He’d rather feared lest his replacement did not appear in time. Of course, there were some issues with the boy. His temper and habit of displaying his emotions when moved. Oh and the brother. The brother could be a problem. A person close to the heart easily threatened. But then there was a simple answer to that. It would be painful but the Interviewer had managed it with Annie and her family. For to be the power behind the throne, one had to be removed from love and other emotions. Hence the old joke within the knowing circles: the Ice Man- a man devoid of emotions and warmth out of necessity. It would be painful for the boy to distance himself from his own family but he is intelligent and he would understand the importance of doing so. 

He’d have to change that name though. Something strong, odd and yet traditional, memorable but slips off the tongue. Edward is far too common. But Mycroft. Now that would be special. Mycroft Holmes. Rolls off the tongue and out of the mind. Perfect. Yes I’ll just get the business cards printed.

Mycroft Holmes, Minor Position in Government.


End file.
